


No Place Like Home for the Holidays

by MFLuder



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Family Dinners, Jason Todd Has Issues, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Miscommunication, POV Jason Todd, Pining, Pseudo-Incest, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt, everyone is bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Jason ran the last time he and Dick had sex, because he knew it wasn't ever going to be anything more, and running is what he does. But now Bruce has invited him to Manor Christmas for the first time in years, a peace offering. Dick picks him up, calls himbrother, taunting him with everything Jason wants, just by being himself. Christmas, or Jason, are probably doomed.For everyone else, it's just another Wayne family dinner.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 32
Kudos: 451





	No Place Like Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started for an advent calendar and then I realized it wasn't going porny anywhere fast, so it was abandoned in favor of the xmas fic exchanges I needed to finish. But hey, a little Christmas in January never hurt anyone, right? (Aka, I am not patient enough to wait an entire year to post.)

“Final stop: Gotham City.”

The woman’s canned voice over the loudspeaker spoke as Jason felt the train slowing down, the change in speed shaking him from his light sleep. He watches as the last few buildings slide by before the train enters the dark tunnel of Gotham Station.

Almost like a switch, Jason instantly feels the cold seep through the glass and metal, soaking into his leather jacket and even the hoodie underneath. Gotham has a different kind of cold from New York, even if the temperature is usually similar. Maybe it was a legacy of Freeze or something. Whatever the cause, Gotham winters sunk into your bones, cold and wet, different from the snow that fell on the Big Apple. 

The train comes to a stop and with a ding, the doors open to let passengers off. With no suitcase or bag of gifts in hand, he is able to squeeze his way off before most of the other passengers, ahead of the crowds, up the escalators that take him to the main level of the station.

When he reaches the top, away from the train platforms, and onto the rotunda, he pauses even while the people behind him grunt and swear, filtering around him, the wave of holiday travelers catching up to him.

In front of the grand Christmas tree that fills Gotham Station with cheer and red bows, there is a man; tall, dark, and cutting a fine figure in a turtleneck and dress pants, hair slicked back.

If Jason hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn it was Bruce. If it weren’t for the particular shape of that ass in those pants.

He forces his feet forward and is only a few feet away when the man turns around from gazing at the tree, face just as masculinely pretty as always.

“Hey, Little Wing,” Dick says.

Jason grunts, shaking off the shock he’s feeling at being greeted at Gotham’s doorstep. For all he knows, it’s a warning. Maybe something’s changed and Dick’s going to tell him to go. Not that Nightwing has any control over Red Hood. 

But maybe Dick does over Jason.

“How’d you know what train I’d be on?” he asks, brusque. Then he amends himself, rolling his eyes and they both say, “Babs,” at the same time.

Dick’s smile at least seems genuine. He shrugs, not apologetic, but understanding of the discomfort Jason is feeling.

“Thought I’d greet my wayward brother home for the holidays.”

Jason stares at him and many people would flinch, but not Dick. Never Dick. “You sure that’s what you want to call me?”

Dick ignores the question, and swings on the trench coat he had slung over his arm. Jesus Christ, but does he look like Bruce. Darker skin, different lines in his face, a slimmer build. But he looks like Bruce did when Jason was Robin and it’s the strangest callback, causing his stomach to churn. He supposes that maybe the experts are right, and people really do grow to resemble each other when they’ve spent enough time together. That sits weird, too, because Jason is excluded from the Bruce-Dick relationship, and always has been.

He takes it out on a passerby who knocks into him, glaring at them strongly enough that they scatter like a cockroach.

Dick laughs and nudges him. “Play nice.”

Trench buttoned, he links arms with Jason, gently leading him out into the frigid Gotham air. As they pass the station doors, there’s a man sitting in the corner, huddled with a dog under a thin blanket. Jason drops a twenty into his tin can and looks away before the man can thank him, practically dragging Dick along by the arm he continues to insist on holding.

It’s misting, the city grey despite the early morning hour.

They make it a few hundred feet, both attempting to avoid the slush of Gotham’s winter roads and sidewalks when Dick asks, “You didn’t eat yet, right? Breakfast was never your thing.”

Jason grunts, a half attempt at agreement.

“Great!” Dick responds, brightly, as though Jason had told him he was starving, please feed me. “I have just the place.”

With a ten-minute walk, Jason and Dick are entering a small diner, something that looks out of place in this part of Gotham. But it’s busy and warm and Jason can see its vintage vibes have brought out the hipsters.

“Hey, honey!” calls out a woman with a thick Gotham accent. “Grab a seat and I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks, Delores.”

Dick turns to look back at Jason. “Booth alright?”

Jason looks around. “Is there another option?”

“Well, I suppose we could sit at the counter.” He grins. “You want to split a milkshake, babe?”

Jason bares his teeth at Dick, but the other man just laughs and leads them to a corner booth. When they sit down, Jason realizes it’s the perfect spot for two vigilantes; they can each see down one or more streets, the booth directly on the block’s corner. He can see a glimpse of Wayne Tower, imposing in the distance. He can also see the beginnings of fashion street, a strange juxtaposition to the older Gotham street the diner is technically located on.

Delores makes her way over after passing on some tickets to the kitchen. She’s filled with bustling energy that makes Jason jealous because he’s already figuring she must be the owner of the place and he knows what it’s like to stand on one’s feet for hours at a time and deal with rude customers. He can see she was a beauty in her youth – and is still lovely – if not in the commonly accepted way a woman in her fifties should look. Her hair is dyed red, short and framing her face with curls not in fashion since the eighties, and she wears bright lipstick to match. If she was chewing gum, Jason would suspect Dick brought him to a movie set.

“Richard, baby doll, it’s been so long! You don’t call, you don’t write.” She leans down and pinches Dick’s shoulder. “You don’t come in and let me fatten you up…”

“Sorry, Delores. I’ve just been busy, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re giving some diner in Blüdhaven all your love these days.”

Dick grins and it’s the sweetest smile Jason’s ever seen from him; somehow flirty and bashful, like he’s chatting with his favorite aunt.

“And you!” Delores turns to look at Jason and he feels like a bug being dissected beneath her brown-eyed gaze. He seems to pass muster though, as she smiles almost as wide at him. “Well, someone takes care of you, don’t they? Muscles like that, you must still drink your milk.”

Jason finds himself blushing under the appreciative eyes of both Delores and Dick. He tries – and fails – not to squirm. 

She laughs, seeing his discomfort. Patting him on the cheek, she turns back to Dick. “This your man, honey?”

Jason, who had just taken a sip of the water she’d brought over to the table, does a spit take and finds himself awkwardly choking for a split second. Dick’s look has turned from hooded to amused, and he looks up at Delores and says, “You – and your waffles – are the only relationship in my life.”

“Oh, hush, you,” she says, and it’s her turn to blush. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, what’ll you boys have?”

Before Jason can even say he doesn’t have a menu, Dick orders for both of them, to his dismay.

After Delores winks at them and sashays back to the kitchen, Dick says, “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

“Not like I have a choice.”

Dick just smirks and begins to actually take his jacket off again. He looks dashingly out of place in the diner in his fine-cut black clothing, and yet, he leans back in a booth that’s probably seen kid’s vomit and some sticky jam hands in its day like he’s perfectly at home. His arms stretch out along the top of the booth and one of his feet casually rests against Jason’s. He looks out the window like he hasn’t even noticed – maybe he hasn’t.

Jason, however, burrows himself further into his leather jacket, still chilled from outside. The movement attracts Dick’s eye and his lips tug up. “Stay awhile.”

Jason glowers at Dick until one of the young servers – blonde, petite, just how Jason should like them – comes over and sets down a black coffee for him and a cocoa for Dick. Susan, as her nametag reads, spends a moment more than polite staring at Jason and he’s about to look back when Dick’s foot nudges into his as he shifts, and accidentally bangs Jason’s knee against the table leg. By the time he’s stopped grimacing, Delores has called her back to the kitchen behind the counter.

It’s not even worth scolding him. Dick’s gonna do what Dick wants to do – even if that means cock-blocking Jason while refusing to acknowledge what’s between them.

He simply sighs into his coffee, gulping it down before pouring himself another mugful from the carafe. He finally shrugs out of his jacket then, though he keeps the red sweatshirt on. He watches as Dick tries to hide his smile behind his mug and Jason finds that can’t stand.

“Cocoa, Dickie? Been hanging around the blood son a bit too much? Tastes devolve to those of a ten-year-old?”

“Damian’s thirteen, and you know I’ve always had the taste buds of a five-year-old.”

Just then, Delores comes out with a tray and proves Dick’s point. She sets a plate of waffles piled high with chocolate and fruit and whipped cream in front of him while in front of Jason she places a double-stacked burger with all the trimmings and seasoned waffle fries. She also sets down a strawberry milkshake because Dick can’t _not_.

“There’s always more for you, honey,” she says, “and your friend. Just holler if you want anything else!”

Jason stares, somewhat disgusted and intrigued as Dick cuts into the waffles, one big pie-shaped piece dripping with toppings and melting whipped cream. He doesn’t even pick up his own food, so intent on the way Dick opens his mouth and the hint of white that stays on his lips.

Finally breaking himself from his trance in response to Dick’s raised and questioning eyebrows, he snarks, “If I didn’t know what you got up to at night, I’d swear you had a hollow leg you put all that sugar and calories into.”

Dick grins, showing him a flash of food like they’re twelve and sixteen again, and says, “Eat your burger, Jay.”

So, he does, and they sit there in comfortable silence except for a few quiet moans of pleasure from Jason because Dick was right, okay? This burger is fantastic. And Dick because he’s a bastard who wants to keep Jason lusting after him in a very unfortunate and complicated way.

He pretends his half chub is all due to how good the food is, and not the way Dick sips at the metal straw of the milkshake and licks his lips before offering it over to Jason. He grabs it from him, and sips down half of it quick, out of spite, hating himself only a little when he’s hit with brain freeze and Dick’s quiet chuckle.

“Easy, Little Wing. You normally take it better than that.”

Christ, is he doing it on purpose? Jason would swear he was, but Dick’s always been blunter about his double entendres and his flirting. This reads like brotherly teasing, but Jason’s cock doesn’t know the difference. He feigns it all off as part of the brain freeze.

When they’re done eating, Jason lets out a belch, unconcerned, only to be horrified when he hears a woman’s light laugh behind him.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but Delores waves him off. “It’s alright. My papa always used to say it was compliments to the chef. My mother hated it, but it stuck with me. I’m just glad you liked it, seen as Richard ordered for you like you don’t know your own mind.”

It is Dick’s turn to look bashful.

She sets the bill and a bag on the table. “Now baby doll, I know you love those fancy doughnut things Susan makes. And you, well, I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just guessed and put an old fashioned in there for you. You boys be safe out there in this cold and don’t be such a stranger, Richard.”

Delores smiles at them and makes her way over to the next table, chatting with them like regulars, too.

“Fancy doughnut things?” Jason asks.

“Cronuts,” Dick says, and he sounds like he’s having sex given the moan he lets out when he looks in the bag she’s left. Only Jason knows what he actually sounds—

_Tan skin meets his pale, scars less noticeable on the darker skin lacking freckles. One leg comes up around his hip, pulling him down, down, until they meet and in the dark he doesn’t know where one starts anymore and the other ends…_

Nope. He’s not letting that train of thought go anywhere. Dick was clear. Well, clear enough for a Bat. They’re brothers.

Jason shakes his head and as they stand to leave, both putting their coats back on, he adds another ten to the generous tip Dick already left. Delores was sweet. He’s tempted for one moment to leave his number, but he still doesn’t know if this is just Dick’s way of buttering him up before telling him to pack up, that he isn’t wanted in Gotham. He doesn’t need to complicate some poor girl’s life.

They walk back outside, the door chiming as they leave, and into the cold air of Gotham once more. Jason shudders, burrowing into his jacket as far as he can, hands shoved in his pockets. Dick looks back at him, question in the sound he makes in his throat, but Jason shakes his head, sidesteps Dick’s arm as it tries to wrap around him. They’re not like that and Dick doesn’t need to pretend to be.

He ignores the flash of confusion on Dick’s handsome features in favor of quickening his step before having to pause, unsure of what they’re doing next.

When Dick steps next to him once more, his bangs hide his eyes, but Jason can see the corner of his mouth is upturned.

They walk for another three city blocks, questions constantly on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but he ultimately stays silent, enjoying the rare quiet time. It wasn’t so long ago they couldn’t be in the same room together, couldn’t see each other without one of them throwing a punch, without Dick ranting about Jason’s behavior. Even less time since their fights were said with bruised lips instead of bloodied noses. In the bleak midday sun of Gotham, walking slow enough that passersby grump at them, breath making itself known once it escapes their lips, it’s rather peaceful to just _be_ with Dick.

They turn the corner and finally, the itch under his skin bursts to the surface. He comes to a hard stop and says, “ _Dick_ ,” about to ask what this is all about, but Dick interrupts him.

“Look, Jay! It’s Gotham Plaza. Let’s go skating!”

Just like that, Jason finds himself being dragged behind Dick, who has gone from looking like a sophisticated young Bruce to the boy who grew up in the circus and hasn’t lost his sense of wonder. Sure, he could yank his arm away from Dick’s pulling grasp, but he senses it’s not a demand, he feels the real excitement shaking through the older man.

He trails along after, instead.

They arrive at the pay booth at the edge of the rink. A large Christmas tree takes up most of the Plaza behind the ice rink. Even though it’s still relatively light out, the tree and the rink itself sparkle with hundreds of lights in white and blue, casting a cool vibe over the skaters below who laugh and fall and spin.

“Dick, what are we—”

“Two skaters, one size ten and one…what size shoe, Jay?”

Completely bulldozed, Jason responds automatically, “Twelve.”

Dick tries to pay and in spite of himself, Jason ends up handing over a twenty-dollar bill and the cashier looks relieved he doesn’t have to figure out the card reader for Dick’s platinum. Dick simply beams at him and ushers them down to rink-side. Jason sits there, staring at Dick, watching his cheeks turn pink under the golden tone of his skin, the happy gleam in his eyes, the way he bats his eyelashes and wiggles his fingers at the toddlers surrounding them while he laces his hockey skates.

One little girl, no older than three, comes waddling over to them after he waves at her, thumb in her mouth, itty bitty skates on her feet. Her mom is watching them like a hawk but ends up smiling fondly when the girl pets Dick’s knee and – after a quick eye exchange with Mom – Dick picks up the little redhead.

“Oh, hi. Aren’t you a sweet girl. What’s your name?”

“Libby,” the toddler mumbles around her thumb, though it comes out more like _Vibby_ because she can’t quite say her ‘l’s’ yet. It’s ridiculously adorable. Jason grunts and starts tying his skates while Dick entertains himself and begins chatting with Libby’s mom who turns out to be newly divorced and _of course_ , has stunning copper hair peeking out from under her blue beanie.

By the time Jason has stood, skates tied, Dick is handing Libby back to her mom. Dick gives one last sappy wave to the girl while Jason makes a funny face over his head – and gets a giggle in return – because it’s not Libby’s fault her mom is exactly Dick’s type. 

As they step on the ice, he says, “You didn’t have to pass on her number on my account.”

Dick’s blue eyes flicker towards him. “She didn’t give it to me and I wasn’t interested.”

“Not interested?” Jason snorts, desperately trying not to fall on his ass while also not clinging to the board like the dads out there on the rest of the rink. Dick skates along like he’s been doing this all his life, too. “She’s exactly your type, Goldie.”

Dick shrugs, a sinuous movement under his trench. “Maybe. At one time.”

Jason tries to continue looking skeptical while pushing his skates out in little bubbles in an effort to move forward.

Dick turns backward and grabs for Jason’s hands and begins tugging him all while skating smoothly without a single glance behind him. “She said we’d be good dads one day. Despite you manfully resisting Libby’s charm – and don’t think I don’t know you made her laugh.”

Jason sputters, embarrassed. “First, you don’t know what you’re talking about. And second, can you imagine me as a _dad_?” He lets out a full belly laugh, the idea absurd.

Dick’s gaze stays level. “I can, actually. Lian loves when you babysit.”

“Yeah, well, that’s different,” he mumbles, sliding on the ice for a moment before steadying himself with one hand against Dick’s bicep. He quickly returns it to Dick’s hand, though that feels too intimate, as well. Since it’s the only thing keeping him up though, he allows it.

“How so?” Dicks asks, eyes a curiosity-filled brightness.

“It’s my best friend’s kid. I’m like…her uncle. I can come and go and give her things and then hand her back.”

“I know for a fact you’ve sat up with her all night when she had the flu and Roy was stuck on an op with GA. He called me, frantic, because Donna had called him, saying Lian was sick. I showed up, but you were there first. That’s not handing them back, Jason.”

“Creep,” Jason mutters, bereft of any other words. 

Dick’s smile turns indulgent. “You would be good with kids.”

“I doubt B would agree.”

A storm flickers over Dick’s face. Then he sighs and lets go of Jason’s hands, leaving Jason to flounder for a moment before grabbing onto the boards again. He glares at the five-year-old passing him with the assist of one of the bobbies. Dick ends up skating beside him again, moving forward a few feet and then skating back to him while Jason tries to walk on his blades; he makes it a few feet before his feet slip out from under and he falls on his ass with a yelp.

When he opens his eyes, Dick’s looking down at him, eyes scrunched with laughter and bangs falling in his face; the giant tree is framed right behind him, casting a glow on his features. He’s too fucking good-looking. Jason feels a little like that scene in The Little Mermaid.

“Dickie, what are we doing?” he asks, petulant as he sits up. He stays seated while Dick spins little circles around him. “And where the fuck did you have time to learn to figure skate, dammit?”

“I went once with Donna and Dawn,” Dick says, slick as the ice he’s skating on.

“Oh, _Donna and Dawn_ ,” Jason draws out, mocking. “And then like everything else in your life, you’re just miraculously great at it.”

Dick stops and offers down a hand. “I’m not great at everything, Jay.”

“Yeah?” Jason sneers, standing and brushing ice dust from his ass and jacket. “Name one thing you’re not good at.”

Dick looks up at him, one hand placed just under his leather jacket, on top his sweatshirt, just above his heart; the height difference isn’t great, only a few inches, but right then, it feels like a mile. “I’ve never been very good at reading you, Little Wing.”

Jason is standing there, red in the face – and not all of it is from the cold – and he opens his mouth to say _something_ , even if he doesn’t know what yet, when two teenaged girls skate by and he hears, “Gosh, I wish Brad looked at me like that,” followed by the second chiming in with, “Dump him.”

He takes a step back from Dick and finds himself actually gliding – in his excitement, he forgets all about Dick’s quiet, but emotional statement, and the girls ogling them like they’re actually a couple. He lets out a “hah!” in triumph.

“Good job,” Dick says, and it isn’t meant to be condescending, but it feels like it, so he sticks his tongue out.

Dick laughs, his white teeth shining.

After that, they give up the conversation for silly things, like Dick talking about that first time he went skating, and Jason managing what Dick calls a “snow plow stop”. An hour later, they’re sitting on the bench where they first tied their skates, drinking hot chocolate and watching the other skaters. Jason’s eyes track one girl who is in the middle, in a red dress with chiffon, performing perfect pirouette spins. Then there’s a few lovebirds, some decent skaters, some as bad as him and he smiles at their antics and falls on the ice. One older man with speed skating blades dodges around the other slower skaters and Jason is lulled by the _shick shick_ of his blades, consistent on the ice.

“Did B send you?” he finally asks, eyes still trained on the speed skater, as he takes another sip of chocolate.

Dick looks over at him, surprised, cup partly raised to his lips. “To meet you?”

Jason nods.

“No. I wanted to see you, Jay.” Dick’s empty hand flutters for a moment, before he shoves it back into his pocket.

Jason sighs and leans back on the bench. His cheeks feel wind-burned and he holds the cup in both his hands, trying to warm them. He watches as the Christmas lights twinkle over Gotham and Gotham Plaza’s skaters, indifferent to the world he and Dick typically inhabit at this moment. “So, this isn’t you letting me down gentle?”

“Gentle for what?” Dick asks, seemingly genuinely confused.

“I thought, when I saw you at the station, that maybe you were going to tell me B rescinded his offer. That I wasn’t welcome. And you were sent to do it, because you’re nice to everyone.”

Dick snorts. “I’d have told you that right away, Jay. Hell, B would have been at the station if he really didn’t want you. But he does, and I do, and the family does. Alfred’s even making those red velvet cookies you like.” Dick turns, looks him in the face. His eyes are gentle, face relaxed. “We’ve missed you. _I’ve_ missed you.”

Jason doesn’t know what to think; it’s something he wants to hear from Dick, but it’s about the family, about being brothers – things Jason has never felt and doesn’t want to feel because the reason why he wants Dick to miss him isn’t at all platonic or brotherly.

So instead he draws himself in and stands, dumping the cocoa cup in the trash and picking up Dick’s skates to return them.

“Are we going back to the Manor, now?” he asks, impatient, after he’s given the skates back to the same bored kid from an hour ago.

Dick shifts from one foot to the other. “I, uh, I thought since I was in town, well, I need to complete some last-minute shopping. I thought maybe you could pick out some gifts?”

Jason looks at him, knowing his eyes are probably bulging out, his face not hiding shock. “You want my help…with gift giving?”

Dick’s lips curl up once more, sensing he’s won because Jason is weak and didn’t say no immediately. “Just some small things. No more than an hour, then we can go home. I promise.”

Dick saying _home_ and involving Jason in that statement leaves him floating enough that he doesn’t even resist being shuffled into the Uber five minutes later. He feels all sorts of out of place today; nothing since he arrived in Gotham is as he thought it would be. Which, in itself is not unusual, but typically, it’d be Mr. Freeze holding Gotham Plaza hostage, not Dick Grayson acting like they might be more than two dudes who fuck in the inky night of Gotham’s alleys.

He shakes his head at his own stupid, romantic thoughts. It’s not like Dick has once referenced the fact that Jason’s had his cock up his ass. Or their last meeting and the words whispered while half-asleep. But Dick crawls into the car behind him and sits in the middle instead of the opposite side and Jason just lets himself soak in the warmth and whiff of whatever cologne Dick is currently wearing that makes him smell so good, as their arms brush against one another the entire ride to the shopping district.

They peruse several local shops and Jason begrudgingly finds himself having fun. Dick’s cheeks are still rosy from the wind burn caused by skating and his eyes sparkle in every shops’ Christmas lights. A light snow begins falling as it grows dark and his raven hair blends into the night, appearing almost a deep blue in the street lamps light, speckled with ice crystals. He looks ethereal and Jason’s heart hurts staring at the perfection of Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder.

Sometimes, Jason catches Dick looking at him while he’s looking at Dick. When he does, the other man opens his mouth, looks prepared to say something, but then he’ll close it again, lips pursed in thoughtfulness. Each time Jason will move his gaze just past Dick, pretend he wasn’t _really_ looking at Dick; it’s a fool errand, of course. They’re both Bats and can pick up tells as well as any psychologist. But Jason’s counting on Dick’s earlier comment – that he can’t read Jason – to cover for the fact that Jason feels like his heart is on his sleeve with every look.

Eventually they’ve managed to settle on gifts for Steph, Babs and Tim, Harper, and Duke. Even Kate. Jason steadfastly refuses to help Dick with anything for Bruce, so they’ve moved onto the last Bat kid: Damian. Jason isn’t sure he wants to help there either, but Dick’s eyes turn a certain shade of cerulean when he looks up at Jason and he finds himself rolling his eyes and agreeing. Jason pulls him into an antique shop because he sees a small collection of Batman and Robin gear and he thinks it’s _hilarious_.

He tugs Dick over when he finds an old-school salt and pepper shaker set and a lunch box boasting _Robin: The Boy Wonder!_ and a youthful approximation of Dick in his original green panties and pixie boots. He cackles at Dick’s grimace and blush.

“Didn’t know you were old enough to grace an antique shop, did you, old man?” he teases. He whips out his phone and takes a picture while Dick tries – and fails – to grab for it. The brief tousle leaves them gazing into one another’s eyes, Dick’s one arm pinned in the middle of his back and Jason pressed up against him. When Dick’s eyes gain a wicked gleam and he licks his lips, Jason steps back purposefully.

“Hey, look. Knives,” he says and decidedly does _not_ run away down the next aisle.

At first, he uses it as a distraction. But then he sees a long dagger hidden in the back. It’s not very pretty at first glance; the blade appears dull, rusted. Dick comes up behind him, curious, as Jason flags down the girl chewing gum and reading a novel at the cash register area. She’s cute and young and kind of reminds Jason of Raven in appearance, aside from the bookish glasses that adorn her face.

“That one,” he says.

She eyes him and Dick up and down before shrugging and uses a key to open the case, pulling out the knife. When he gets it closer, he sees the reason the hilt is green in color is because it’s made of bronze.

He and Dick exchange a glance.

“I’ll take it,” Dick says, and he and Raven’s fashion twin go back to the register.

Jason wanders back around to the pop culture section where they saw the Robin merch mixed in with ancient Campbell’s soup metal signs and a marquee sign from the old Gotham theater. He finds the Robin figurine that really isn’t old enough to be here because it is, in fact, Robin II. As in, it’s Jason. 

Not a lot of merch was made for him, mostly because he and Dick looked similar enough as boys and Bruce deliberately kept them dressed alike, at least those first couple of years. Robin merchandise is usually generic, but tends to look more like Dick, despite the fact that they all have white-skin tones; this one though, the hair is curly, the boots and shorts longer, marking it as one of the rare pieces made of him as Robin. It’s even styled in a brawler pose, fists up, guarding its face.

He glances at the price tag: fifteen dollars. Barely more than when they were first made. He snorts to himself and picks it up. If nothing else, Dick will get a laugh out of it. He slips it into his pocket, so the other man won’t see.

At the register, Dick and the cashier are talking about some band Jason’s never heard of and how vinyl should never have gone out of style. He slides the tag and a twenty behind the till while Dick looks away. She’ll find it after they leave.

“Ready to go?” he asks, innocently.

Dick turns back to him, patting the bundle of bags that hold their purchases. “All set.”

They turn to leave, and the cashier picks up her book once more, but then Jason sees her eyes slide to the ceiling and back down. She coughs, the kind of cough that is meant to hide a laugh and opens her book.

The reaction is enough to make Jason look up – and Dick’s eyes follow his.

There, in the middle of a walkway in a Gotham antique shop, is a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Jason knows his expression is pinched, but he at least keeps the grimace off his face. It’s awkward. Awkward because he doesn’t want to step back, to laugh it off in a brotherly fashion with Dick. Awkward because he wants to kiss the other man desperately, to take his smooth, handsome face in his hands and kiss those plush lips like his life depended on it, with all the romantic cheesiness of a Hallmark Christmas movie.

If anyone asked, Jason would swear _on his life_ he’s never watched one.

He barely has time to think all that, still staring at the crisp plant hanging down, before Dick is rising onto his toes and pressing his lips to Jason’s. 

They’ve had dirtier, messier kisses. They’ve even had softer, tongue-filled ones. But the simple sweetness of Dick’s lips pressed chastely to his own causes Jason to freeze, his hands halfway to Dick’s waist. He’s not sure if he’s going to pull Dick in or push him away.

Dick moves back before he can decide, a small smile on those same lips, not seeming fazed at all. He just turns and walks out the store, calling out a “Merry Christmas!” to the grinning cashier who has apparently had her day made, book cast aside.

Jason stumbles out of the shop thirty seconds later, once he’s jumpstarted his brain and catches up to the unruffled, dark-haired man who just kissed him. In public. In daylight.

“What was that?” he asks, and it comes out harsher than he meant, more demanding, but he’s grateful, knows it covers his nerves.

Dick’s look back at him is enigmatic. “Tradition,” he responds, calm as the Boy Wonder can be. “Now come on. There’s one more store to stop in before we go back to the Manor, and I still want a nap before patrol.”

Jason lets himself be pulled along, confused and wanting a cigarette, but somehow, always still willing to follow Dick, wherever he leads.

~~~

Finally, they make it back to the Manor and they actually go in through the front door instead of the Cave, as Jason thought they would. It leaves him handing his leather jacket to Alfred as the man stands there waiting for it, while Dick simply pushes through, off to grab a snack before his nap.

“Master Jason,” Alfred says, proper as always, both in tone and dress, greeting them in his customary black suit.

“Alfie,” Jason drawls, because he can’t _not_.

Alfred’s eyebrows twitch in a way that might suggest he is perturbed by the nickname, but Jason catches the tell-tale half-tilt to his lips as he turns away and hangs the leather jacket in the front hall armoire.

“I trust I don’t need to be concerned about things that go boom, Master Jason?”

“Who, me?” Jason says, faux hurt in his voice. “Why I’d never.”

“Quite,” is Alfred’s response. “Well, should you care to join, dinner will be at eight tonight. I know Master Dick has no intention to join, but both I and Tim would appreciate the company.”

Translation: Alfred would like to take advantage of Jason being here to force Tim away from whatever current project or case he is working on and actually consume something aside from coffee and protein bars. Jason shrugs, but he figures, why not. He and Tim might be on better terms these days, but Jason will always take any chance to annoy the braniac Robin.

“Where’s the demon spawn? Should I be checking my bed for short-sheeting?”

If Jason didn’t know Alfred so well, he might have missed the semblance of humor – and relief – in his voice as he responds, “Master Damian has accompanied his father to Smallville for the day.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise as he follows Alfred through the main hall and into the kitchen via formal dining room. “Yeah? By choice or pain of death?”

Alfred looks over his shoulder at him. “I believe Master Bruce’s words were ‘You are coming, and you will play nice with Jon, and you will not call Clark _the alien_ ’.”

“So, totally by choice then.”

The butler stops entirely and turns towards him. “Master Jason, I must admit, it is a delight to have you back in this home. You lend it such an air of gravitas.”

Jason snorts out a laugh. It feels…surprisingly good to be back. “I’m surprised Tim didn’t go with them. Or is Conner in San Fran for the holiday?”

“No, no, he is most assuredly with the Kent’s. However, while his boyfriend may be in Smallville, his girlfriend is here, and I believe it is Miss Stephanie’s week.”

“Never quite gotten that one. I mean, sure, they’re both pretty but. Complicated.”

“Yes, rather. However, one thing I have noticed about the Wayne men; you all do like to make things complicated for yourselves.”

Jason makes a face behind the butler’s back, knowing he’s lumped in there, even if it’s the first time he’s been in the Manor proper in two years.

“Now,” Alfred claps his hands. “Master Dick texted ahead of you; I believe you’ll find everything you need here.”

Sure enough, on the breakfast bar lay several towels, a couple of whetstones, a bucket, and bottles of various chemicals, all meant to help clean rust and patina coating. Next to them all, Dick has already left the dagger they picked out for Damian.

He also left a candy wrapper on the counter that Alfred graciously picks up and puts in the garbage under the sink.

“I shall leave you to it, then,” Alfred says, halfway to the butler’s pantry.

Jason, who has already sat down and begun coating the blade with a white liquid in the bucket, looks up. “Stay, Alfie?” he finds himself saying, not even realizing his intent until the words are out of his mouth. 

Alfred pauses. “I was about to have a cuppa.”

Jason looks down and begins scrubbing the dagger. “Do you still have that peppermint tea?”

“I do, Master Jason. I do.”

~~~

Jason turns in his bed and blinks at the clock. Two-fifteen a.m. Too late to start vigilante work, too early to beat a punching bag in the gym without raising questions and Alfred’s fatherly concern.

Jason’s doomed himself to a sleepless night, wondering if perhaps he can sneak past the other Bats’ rooms to get to the library – he knew he should have brought a book in with him – when he hears a noise at his door and Dick slips in.

“Something wrong?” Jason asks, instantly more alert.

Dick shakes his head and crawls onto the bed making room for himself under the covers to Jason’s increasingly confused expression.

“What?” Dick asks, once he’s under the comforter. He’s only wearing a soft worn tee and a pair of blue boxers. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

“When we were kids,” Jason hisses. He shrinks in on himself, in part from the cold air Dick’s let in, in part because he’s scared of how much he wants to reach out and touch the side of Dick’s neck, how much he wants to grab him and smash their lips together.

“And another time, not that long ago.”

Jason snorts. “Does that even count when every other time was on a rooftop or in a dark alley?”

“All alleys in Gotham are dark,” Dick says with a soft smile. He reaches a hand out, touches Jason’s bare chest with the tips of his fingers before Jason draws back further, barely clinging to the edge of the bed, now.

“What are you doing, _brother_?” he half whispers, half hisses.

It doesn’t even phase Dick. The other man just brushes a piece of his hair behind his ear, making his movement forward look intentional. He rests his hand in between them, palm up, like someone might offer to a strange animal to gain their trust.

Jason doesn’t like being manipulated.

“You were the one last time, Dick, who—”

“You ran away, last time,” Dick retorts, nonchalant. 

Jason sits up and swings his legs over the edge, facing the window and away from Dick. His fists clench and he has to force them open, to relax. He feels Dick shift behind him and he finds himself wrapped entirely in the first Robin’s embrace, clutched between his legs, arms around his middle, chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, Little Wing. Talk to me.”

Jason sighs. He gives in and lets his head fall back. He keeps his eyes closed; it’s easier when he doesn’t have to look at the person.

“I don’t want to talk, Dick. I’m tired.”

“You weren’t sleeping.” Dick’s voice is a soft rumble against Jason’s back.

“Not like that. I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of me?”

“No. _This_.” Jason doesn’t want to put words to it. Saying it means it’s out there, to be critiqued, judged. Found wanting. Like he always is.

“Jay, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

 _How could he?_ asks a voice that kind of sounds like Roy. His best friend is always telling him to just say what he feels. The problem is, ever since he came back, Jason doesn’t know how he feels half the time. 

He flounders for a minute, debating whether to say it, _how_ to say it. Finally, the darkness of the Gotham night and the comfort of Dick’s arms around him leave him bold enough to grit out: “I don’t want dark alleys anymore. I know that you’re Mr. Golden Boy, that you can’t be seen slumming it with your worthless, formerly dead brother. With a vigilante who kills. I get it. But I want it, Dick.”

Jason goes quiet, wets his tongue, continues. “Today was amazing, you know? I felt like…like you weren’t ashamed of me. No one knew us; no one knew what we do at night, no one knows we’re supposed to be brothers. But still. You couldn’t even say it.”

“Say what?” Dick asks. 

“When Delores asked. If I was your man. You couldn’t bring yourself to say I was. She’s not a stranger to you, but she doesn’t _know_ , right? So, what would have been _so bad_ about just saying yes?”

The room is so quiet, Jason can hear the clock ticking. Dick eventually pulls back, and Jason knows he’s going to leave. He wonders if it’s too soon to sneak out of the Manor, go back to New York, maybe see Roy and Lian in Star City.

“Look at me.”

Jason refuses, hugs his hands around his elbows, continues to try to stare down the Gotham sky.

“Jason. Please.”

There’s a hitch in Dick’s voice and it’s that which makes Jason turn. Dick’s only a few inches behind him, one leg crossed under the other. His tee is stretched tight as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair. His long fingers fidget, a sign of anxiety Dick Grayson doesn’t usually show.

“Today was a _date_.”

Jason startles, his eyes flying from following Dick’s hands to looking him in the face.

“I thought you knew that. I picked you up. I brought you to my favorite restaurant in town. I took you ice skating. And I’m pretty sure I kissed you under that piece of mistletoe.”

“You said it was tradition,” Jason says, defensively crossing his arms.

Dick rolls his eyes, like he can’t believe someone can be so dumb. “Do you think if I’d been walking with Tim, I’d have kissed him? Steph? _Bruce_?”

They both make a face at that.

“Jason, the only reason I didn’t say anything to Delores was because you started coughing and looked like you were going to pass out at the very thought.” He pauses. “I’m never ashamed of you. Sometimes I’ve been mad, sometimes frustrated. Even disappointed because you’ve done some things I know you’re better than. But never ashamed. Not with you as my brother, with you as Robin or Red Hood, or with you in my bed.”

“Or alley?” Jason asks, because he’s an asshole like that.

“Or alley,” Dick says, and Jason’s eyes have adjusted enough to make out the twinkle in Dick’s.

Jason lets Dick drag him back down to the bed on top of him, one hand under his tee, sliding it up the whole way, feeling Dick’s muscles flex underneath his palm. Dick arches into his intrepid fingers.

“You sure?” he breathes. “The walls have ears.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, head tossed back into the pillow, showing off his long neck. Jason nips it, though not hard enough to make a mark, as much as he wants to. “Fuck me.”

“Slut,” Jason says quietly, fondly.

“Yes,” Dick agrees on an exhale. “But I’m your slut.”

Jason isn’t sure he believes that part, so he leans down to kiss his brother silent.

~~~

The next morning Jason wakes up naked and with another body wrapped around his. He stretches, taking in a rare sunny Gotham morning – until he realizes they have company.

He quickly yanks the blankets over Dick’s head and grabs a pair of sweats and makes it to the door and Ace in record time. He puts his fingers through Ace’s collar and begins backing him up as best he can against the eighty-some pound dog who thinks this is now a game. There’s a bit of back and forth, but Jason gets him out the hallway enough to look down both ways and sigh with relief when he sees no one in either direction. He shuts the door behind him, anyway.

It means Damian is probably still asleep or still in Smallville and Ace got bored. If Damian’s awake, he’s usually not too far behind the dog, and that would have been disaster.

“Bad dog,” Jason admonishes, but when Ace gets down on his back, Jason rubs his tummy anyway.

After a few minutes of petting, Ace gets up to wander the halls and bother the other residents of Wayne Manor. Jason slips back into his bedroom where Dick is now sitting up, hair delightfully mussed, and blinking at him slow. There’s a bruise on his shoulder Jason didn’t see last night. He wonders how patrol went.

“Who was that?” Dick asks.

“No one, thank fuck. Just Ace. We must have forgot to lock the door last night.”

Dick nods. “He’s a very smart dog.”

Jason snorts. “And you aren’t a very smart Bat if you wanted to stay uncaught. Bad enough someone might have heard us last night. Or should I say, _you_.”

Dick grins and flutters his eyelashes as Jason tosses him his shirt. “You like it when I’m loud.”

Jason feels his ears go red and throws Dick’s boxers right at his head.

“Can I wear yours instead?”

“What? No, ew,” Jason says, wondering what’s up with Dick this morning.

“Well, you put them on for bed, right? It’s not like you—”

“Fuck Goldie, do you _want_ Bruce to walk in on us like this? Get back to your own room. In your _own_ boxers.”

Dick grins at him as he crawls out of bed and slides the boxers on. “One day we’ll get to actually sleep in, maybe have morning sex—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say, Wonder Boy.”

“ _Boy Wonder_. Not an Amazon,” Dick says, mid-yawn.

Jason opens the door a crack, rolling his eyes dramatically, then looks up and down the hall. It’s empty and Dick’s bedroom is only three doors down. He pushes the wooden door open, cringing as it creaks loudly. “Get going.”

“Mmkay, babe,” Dick says, clearly still sleepy. He’s probably going to nap for another hour or two. It is only nine am. As he passes by Jason, he swats him on the ass and then runs down the hall when Jason growls at him.

Just then, he hears Alfred’s voice, coming from down the stairs to the bedroom wing, “Ace! Here boy, come get your breakfast. Especially since Master Damian can’t be bothered to do it himse—”

Jason shuts the door on Alfred’s voice and leans against the door. He knows the cameras have caught this morning’s…adventure, as well as Dick obviously coming into his room last night and not leaving. He steps into the room to get dressed and go down to the Cave before Bruce, hoping to scrub the evidence. Bruce might notice it’s been tampered with later, if he looks into it, but since everyone is alright, he’ll probably figure Damian did something he wasn’t supposed to.

The benefits of having a thirteen-year-old assassin in the house.

When Jason reaches for his underwear to put on under the sweats, he discovers they’re gone.

“Fucking _Dick_ , man,” he mutters, and decides a shower and caffeine are the first priorities. 

~~~

After scrubbing the tape in the Cave, Jason spends the day avoiding Dick. He’s feeling a little frayed at the edges, vacillating between embarrassed at admitting his feelings to Dick and getting pissed because it seems Dick is avoiding him, too. Every time Jason thinks to wonder where Dick is, he seems to be with Damian or with Bruce – who had indeed returned early this morning – or anywhere Jason _isn’t_.

At one point, he gives up and storms back down to the Cave, stealing Tim’s bike since his own is back in New York, and drives into the city proper. The Manor feels claustrophobic and there’s a lingering tension, present in a way he and Dick being in the same room hasn’t been. Even Cass who slipped onto the premises around ten am had been looking at him strange, like she knew something was up.

Instead of taking the main roads, he heads into the bad neighborhoods. It’s cold so there’s not a lot of people out – these aren’t the types to be doing last minute shopping. These are the people whose children wonder why they can’t have a new pair of kicks, or worse yet, wonder if they’ll even eat tonight. 

He settles on a shelter in Crime Alley – one that he once stayed at when he was only nine. In some ways it looks more rundown than it did then, but he sees the kitchen is newer, that the place doesn’t suffer from a draft anymore; it’s good to see his donations have been helping, then. He offers his services to a man named Dale and becomes a smiling volunteer in the Christmas Eve lunch line, a beanie covering his distinctive hair.

He overhears a few conversations about the Red Hood and the Bats, stories that reminisce on a brief glimpse, or a time someone was saved. He hears a few people not as pleased with vigilantes as well. It’s the quiet tears of a woman in a corner, or the begging pleas of a child to their mother that he listens to the most, though, as he walks around, offering bread rolls and then pie. If he stays in Gotham, these are the things he’ll act on, Bruce and his rules be damned. 

When lunch is over, Dale thanks him, asks if he’s coming back for dinner or Christmas Day. Jason manages to sneak away without a commitment. He walks two blocks and stops, gazing up at a shitty apartment building and lighting a cigarette. His mind clears as he ponders, standing in the spot where Bruce first found him. He considers if he should just leave Gotham before the family dinner tonight. If any of the family even want him there. Just what the fuck he’s doing with the golden boy.

It’s only because he’d end up _persona non grata_ again if he stole Tim’s crotch rocket and the disappointing look Alfred would give him for missing his holiday food efforts that he decides to return to the Manor. 

Dick’s the sole Bat in the Cave when he returns, and he looks up from the computer as Jason swings his leg off Tim’s bike, tosses the helmet back where he stole it from. Dick rises and walks over to him, looking absolutely ridiculous in a Christmas sweater Barbara gave him last year. He appears more youthful today, less like Bruce. 

Despite the cringeworthy pattern, the fabric is soft when Dick draws his hands up and around his waist, placing a hand on Jason’s jaw and a kiss on his lips. His blue eyes are dark with the knowledge that Jason almost ran, because Jason always does, and Dick knows him better than anyone at this point, aside from maybe Roy.

Dick pulls down Jason’s head to his, resting their foreheads together. “You came back,” he whispers, hot breath brushing over Jason’s lips. Something settles in his gaze as he says it.

His response is a grunt and a brotherly shove away from Dick, but he thinks—

_Always._

~~~

Dinner begins peacefully enough, everyone gathered around the table. Bruce says something that in most families would be a prayer but here is just a sense of gratefulness, a recognition of bravery and of the fallen. Dick raises a glass to the other Bats who aren’t there tonight, like Duke and Kate and Babs. Alfred offers a toast.

They’re less than halfway through the meal, though, when Dick sets down his fork, steeples his fingers over his plate. “I have an announcement to make.”

Jason looks up from his food sharply, a knot instantly forming in his gut.

All eyes have turned to Dick, even Damian’s, who continues to shovel food in his mouth like a child who has been starved.

“Jason and I are dating.”

Even as the floor drops out of Jason’s stomach, he catalogues all the responses as a Bat has been trained to do. Steph and Cass share a high-five across the table before Steph puts out her hand to Tim, like she’s waiting for something. Tim, though, is looking slightly shocked, like he’s just discovered the cheese was not sharp cheddar but _mild_ cheddar and is rather offended. Bruce’s face is similar, his mouth dropping open the slightest – about as much surprise as Bruce ever shows. Alfred’s eyebrows touch his receding hairline, but he proceeds to pour more gravy and returns to consuming his food.

Damian’s reaction is the most effusive. The little demon spits out his food and acts torn between laughing and choking, finally calming down enough to let out a garbled, “What?!”

Jason is sure his face is beet red, even as he tries to make his frame as small as he can in hopes no one will turn to him next.

Dick, though, calmly looks at Damian and repeats himself: “Jason and I are dating, Damian. Something that, when you get over the concept of cooties and check your attitude, you might one day be lucky enough to get to do.”

“Dick,” Bruce admonishes.

Damian’s face screws up, and it’s almost adorable, except for how Jason knows that face scrunch is the prelude to an assassin-trained tantrum.

“Damian,” Bruce says, next, just as chiding.

Jason watches, fascinated as Damian practically deflates, his little pug nose flaring; his only remaining protest as he turns back to his food, clearly shutting them out. Well, the flare of his nose and the horrid screeching with fork and plate he makes until Stephanie reaches over and steals the utensil from him.

Jason flinches as Bruce’s gaze finally turns to him. “Is this true, Jason?”

How does Jason even answer that? Until two minutes ago, Jason didn’t even know himself. Yeah, he ranted at Dick last night, but he never expected…never expected this.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know, Bruce. We might have been subtle for someone else, but your eyes are everywhere,” Dick breaks in.

Bruce looks pained. “I knew you two were…” He trails off.

“Fucking?” Dick asks, pointedly.

“Master Richard. _Language_ ,” Alfred notes, calmly slicing a piece of steak and bringing it to his lips as he speaks.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Dick responds, before turning back to Bruce. “So, you only thought we were having sex. And you were okay with that. But dating, oh that goes too far, huh?”

Stephanie speaks up, a look of delight on her face. “ _We_ knew. Didn’t we, Cass?”

Cass nods, looking smug. As she’s sitting right next to Jason, she places a friendly hand on his knee and gives him a small smile. He feels weak, but it helps.

Tim turns to Steph beside him. “You knew? How did _you_ know, and I didn’t?”

She shrugs, her chest rising somewhat obscenely with the movement. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and looks far wiser than her nineteen years. “Because you might be a genius, but you’re still a _man_. You only assumed they were banging – sorry Alfred – Cass and I knew there was more to it than that. By the way you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Tim, you owe her nothing,” Bruce growls. “We don’t bet on each other’s dating lives.”

“So, I suppose I shouldn’t plan on getting my fifty from her when it turns out you’ve been dating Big Blue all these years.”

The room goes deadly quiet. The slow turn of everyone’s heads in his direction causes Jason to realize _he_ was the one to make that little announcement. He keeps his face blank out of sheer self-defense.

Dick rolls his eyes and drops his head in his hands. “Jason…”

“Father is this true?” pipes up Damian. “My mother is not a great choice, but to turn her away for that _alien_ —”

Bruce valiantly does nothing but pinch the bridge of his nose. Jason swears he can see a few more hairs turn gray as he looks at him.

“What did I say about calling Clark _alien_?” Bruce sighs and looks up. “That is neither here nor there. I believe we were discussing Richard and Jason’s…relationship.”

Dick flinches, even as Tim mutters under his breath, “ _Richard_. You’re in trouble now.”

Dick quickly straightens though. “We’re dating. And that’s all any of you need to know.”

“Jason, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Jason, who is still as shocked as anyone else in the dining room at the announcement, has also been feeling a bit of warmth form in his gut where only moments ago there was a knot. This is what he wanted and while he thinks Dick is _insane_ for bringing it up with the Bats and not someone normal like Kory or hell, _a random stranger_ first, it’s also kind of sweet. Jason doesn’t get sweet a lot.

He looks across the table at Dick and sees the softness in his blue eyes, remembers the way Dick had tried to reach out for him when he first came back, pictures Dick waiting for him when he got off the train yesterday, remembers…

_Soft lips meet his and gentle his kiss. Dick slows him down, even as Jason tries to take control, to make this rough and needy and anything but meaningful. Dick won’t have it. He whispers to Jason how he’s strong and giving and gorgeous and a hero, and how Dick’s sorry he wasted all these years, and when Dick’s asleep, cuddled into his side, Jason whispers back how he’s always wanted this, how he doesn’t deserve Dick, and thanks him for not giving up on him, lost as he’s been._

He clears his throat, family waiting expectantly, and he takes a plunge scarier than any off a building. “I’ve been in love with Dick in some way since I was fourteen. He was the first to reach out to me, to welcome me back and I don’t blame any of you; I was fucked up—”

“Still are,” mutters Damian, but Jason ignores him.

“—And sometimes I hate that he’s all yours’s favorite, but I love him for it, too. I couldn’t not love him if I tried. So yeah, we’re dating. But if it’s him or us dating, I’ll gladly walk out that door right now because I can’t do anything that will hurt him or his place in this family. So, any objections?”

Silence greets Jason’s declaration. Damian’s mouth opens, but Jason notes Cass kicks him, and Steph places her hand over his mouth. No one else offers a complaint.

Jason, though, only has eyes for Dick, wondering how he’ll take Jason’s words. 

He shouldn’t have been worried because Dick loves a romantic gesture, even if it’s not him providing it, and the way his eyes are glowing, the crinkles around them, the curve of his lips, his relaxed face – it tells Jason all he needs to know.

“Now,” he says, gruffly, “can we go back to eating? Please?”

There’s another moment of silence and then the noise rises again, everyone talking over one another but thankfully not about Dick or Jason or even Bruce’s dating life. Stephanie gives back Damian’s fork, Tim slides her a fifty-dollar bill under the table and Damian still looks disgruntled. Alfred looks over them all happily. When he catches Jason’s eye, the butler winks. 

~~~

Later that night, they’re situated around the tree, opening gifts. Tim and Steph are cuddled in an oversized chair. Damian’s literally half under the tree, his butt wagging almost as much as Ace’s every time they dig for the next gift. Bruce sits in his desk chair, but close enough to the group. Alfred stands despite all of their protestations, and Cass lounges over a new piece of furniture every ten minutes. She likes Christmas well enough, but they all know she’s itching to patrol tonight.

Then there’s Jason and Dick and this time, it’s Jason with his body wrapped around Dick’s while they sit on the floor, Jason’s back pressed to the couch Cass is currently spread out on. There’s a pile of colorful wrapping paper spread around them and Dick looks about as excited as Damian, though instead of ripping the paper like his younger brother, he carefully untapes each present, making sure to take as long as he can to open every one.

The gifts Dick had Jason help pick out – and were in fact, actually _Jason’s_ gifts to the family as it turned out Dick already had his bought and wrapped – went over fantastically. Even Damian had said a stilted thank you to Jason when he unwrapped the dagger they’d found at the antique shop, entirely restored to its original glory.

He still watches them like they might start making out at any moment and offend his sensibilities. Jason almost wants to, just to bother the brat. Bruce’s shrewd glance stops him, though. He suspects there’s a bit of jealousy in Damian’s aggrieved attitude, and he smirks to himself, childishly pleased to have something the blood son doesn’t, for once.

When all the gifts are opened, Alfred passes around hot chocolate with peppermint sticks and they listen to him tell a tale of a Christmas years past when he was young and still with the Queen’s Guard, before he came to the U.S. and met the Waynes.

Finally, everyone begins to disperse, Cass and Steph to put on their suits, Tim to call some Chinese investors and maybe Kon, Alfred to bed. Damian has been sitting cuddled with Ace for the last half hour, eyes beginning to blink slower, to droop. Bruce comes over and scoops his son up, who, despite being thirteen and having a small growth spurt recently, is still small in his father’s arms.

“Leave the wrapping,” he says, quietly, to Jason and Dick still sitting on the floor. “Get some rest. Jason, I’d like it if you went on patrol with me tomorrow night. You know the inmates get restless this time of year and I’d like someone who knows Arkham as well as me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jason responds, intelligently, blinking at Bruce. It’s the first time he’s been asked on patrol since he went off with the Outlaws. “Okay.”

Bruce continues to the entrance into the living area, Damian moving his head sleepily on his father’s shoulder. He pauses once more, turning back to them. “I’m glad this makes you both happy. That’s all I ever want for you boys.”

Before either Dick or Jason can say anything, Bruce is gone.

“Ever the Batman,” Dick sighs, dramatically, after a minute. He moves in Jason’s arms until the only way Jason could explain it, is that he _snuggles_. His head falls back on Jason’s shoulder and he looks up at him. “Have I ever said how pretty your eyes are?”

Jason flushes. “You wouldn’t have said that when I got out of the Pit. They burned like kryptonite.”

“Kryptonite can be deadly to some, but it’s still pretty.”

Even Jason isn’t dense enough to miss what Dick is saying.

Dick takes one of his hands and picks up Jason’s. He intertwines their fingers. Jason thinks his hands look oafish in comparison, too pale, too broad, but Dick traces the veins in his hands, smoothes over his callouses like he’s something precious.

“Thank you,” Dick says.

“For what?” he asks, confused. 

“For being with me.”

Jason snorts. “Like that’s a hardship.”

“I don’t mean…” he trails off. His gaze stays on their hands. “I didn’t get it. What you wanted. And I feel like I treated you like shit, keeping us in the dark for so long. I didn’t mean to, but—”

“Look, Dickie,” Jason says, a snarky tone to his voice because he’s already made one declaration too many for today. “It’s fine. I’d keep me in the dark, too.”

Dick spins around up onto his knees, quick as on the rooftops, his eyes a blazing blue in the light of the Christmas tree, almost a snarl on his lips. “No. No, Little Wing. I don’t want to hear it. You deserve better than that. You deserve goodness. And you’re going to get it now, no matter how much you protest.”

Dick runs his hands through Jason’s hair and he can feel it spike up. He twirls his fingers in the one white chunk and tugs Jason’s mouth to his that way.

Dick’s mouth is eternally soft like he’s just applied chapstick, and Jason takes advantage, licking at his lips, biting them, getting his tongue into Dick’s mouth. They sit there making out for a few minutes before Dick pulls back. They’re both breathing a little heavier and Ace is staring at them, about as grouchy as his master would be.

It causes Jason to huff out a laugh as the dog gets up and shuffles off in search of Damian or Bruce. He pulls the final gift out of his pocket. Dick laughs when he sees it, eyes a vivid intense blue when he stares back at Jason. “Where’d you find this?”

“The antique shop.”

“Looks like you’re an old man, too, now.”

Dick leans further into his chest, letting Jason take most of his weight while he caresses the plastic Robin II’s form. “It even has your curls.”

“You can put it next to that hideous Discowing statue you have.”

Dick lets out a huff of indignation. “That costume was killer!” he says in protest.

“As in, it killed people just to look at you.”

Dick elbows him in the gut in retaliation. While Jason catches his breath, he watches Dick fondly as he runs his thumb over the figure’s face.

Dick moves his head up again, thumb now tracing Jason’s throat. His words are barely heated breath against Jason’s lips. “I mean it, Jay.”

Jason nods, not trusting his voice to respond. Tomorrow will be day one of them as a _couple_ , and he suspects it’ll still be a challenge. But he does feel happier, or at least more content.

“Happy Christmas, little brother.”

Jason lets out another laugh. “You sure you still want to call me that?” he asks, harkening back to their first conversation off the train yesterday.

Dick smiles; it’s his flirty, mischievous one. “Take me to bed, babe.”

Jason rolls his eyes but shifts his weight enough to haul Dick and himself up off the floor. Dick laughs and wraps his legs around him, kissing Jason the whole way back to the bedroom, Robin II clutched in his fingers.

~~~

_It’s the first time they’ve done this in a bed. Jason’s left the light on because he wants to see Dick, especially after all those times on roofs and in alleys after a chase, with only moonlight or gray clouds to let him see. Dick looks like a fallen angel, skin shining in the lamplight, body smooth and trim and it doesn’t look like Jason’s cock is even going to fit, but once there’s a condom on, Dick lifts himself up and then down, body flinching as he breaches himself, but it doesn’t seem to be a reaction to pain. His breath comes out faster and he throws his head back as he sinks down, inch by inch, and Jason has to clutch at his hips because it’s too much and he wants to take this all in before he comes. Dick moans beautifully, says Jason’s name like a prayer as he bottoms out. They fuck like that for seemingly hours, Jason’s stamina holding up through sheer willpower, until finally Dick takes his hand and places it on his gorgeous cock, lets Jason jack him off until he’s coming, hot and wet on both of their chests. It’s enough to throw Jason off his game and with a few quick thrusts he too comes, grunting like an animal and pulling Dick down on top of him, smearing come on their bodies. “Jason,” Dick whispers once more, before reaching back and pulling Jason out of himself, keeping a tight grip on the condom. They lay there panting until Dick fades into sleep, his heartbeat calm against Jason’s chest. “I love you,” Jason whispers, for the first time in his life. Dick smiles in his sleep._

**Author's Note:**

> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


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